Skullgirls: Cosa Nostra
by Psychophant
Summary: For an undead feline thief and a private detective, the goal is easier said than done: Delve into the criminal network of the Medici Mafia, and save the victims of their latest abduction spree. How will this unlikely pair take on the biggest crime family in the kingdom? With some inside help, of course.
1. Mutual Foes

_Hey there! Thanks for taking the time and consideration to take a look at my story. I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing._

* * *

A studiously blank expression was carved on Irvin's face as thumbed through a small notebook, past pages thick with scribbling in black ink: a manifest of everything he knew about the latest abduction spree. The mob was prime suspects in the case, as always. There was a depressing relation between the infamous Medici family and the city's ever-rising crime rate. Honest citizens were a dying breed in New Meridian – a statement which had become increasingly literal as of late. A month ago, the private detective was all but ready to give up hope of taking out the mob. Every case presented the same obstacles: witnesses would be bribed, courts were rigged, suspects were bailed from prison and every investigation slipped through Irvin's worn fingers like grains of sand.

In spite of the grim outset, change was coming over New Meridian. With the mysterious disappearance of the Medici's patriarch, the mafia itself was thrown into disarray, and in turn their grip of fear over the populace went slack. Irvin knew that if there was a time to strike at the mob, it was now. It would start here: in this modest, sunlit restaurant where his investigation had brought him. Recent events had also provided him with an unlikely ally, currently lounging in the chair across from him.

Nadia Fortune, as the locals told it, was somewhat of a local hero amongst the people of Little Innsmouth - stories of her ranged from fantastical to outright ridiculous. In hushed tones, it was said that she was undying - that her head could be removed from its shoulders and reattached with no consequence; a power she apparently used to great effect - immortal legend indeed. Regardless of what truth there was to these rumors, she had agreed to help Irvin's investigation in any way possible. Her ears swiveled towards him as he cleared his throat.

"You said you were a close friend of the victim." Irvin noted, "Could you remember the last time you saw Minette? Was there anything out of place? Anyone you'd mark as suspicious, possibly?"

The thief leaned back in her chair, rubbing her jaw thoughtfully. The private detective waited patiently.

"Now that you mention it…" She murmured, "There were these two creeps that came in the other day, trying to put their moves on Minette."

"I'm guessing it didn't end well."

"You bet." Nadia snickered, "They threw their weight around like they owned the place, started calling her a bunch of names, y'know, textbook goons. The second I try to step in, one of 'em - a fatty - tries to slash me up with a machete. You should've seen the look on his face when I got back up - absolutely _purr_iceless." She trailed off for a moment, "I'd bet my last meal those two were Medicis."

Irvin nodded, scribbling the information into his notebook. "Did you get anything else? Names, motives?"

"Not much..." Nadia murmured, "I heard one of them say something about someone named 'Vitale'. Does that help?"

The private detective nodded sagely, the gentle scratch of graphite on paper echoed again.

"Vitale de' Medici: The heir-apparent in the family. It helps confirm some information, but nothing tangible." The private detective shifted his weight with a slight creak, "The two suspects you mentioned earlier, could you describe them in detail?"

He held up his hand, stopping the feline burglar before she began on that train of thought.

"Just keep it in mind." The investigator continued, "I have an inside contact from the mob meeting us here, if these suspects were Medicis, he'll be able to I.D. them."

Nadia felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I understand your reservations, trust me. Marcello is a mafia contractor, but he's a good man." Irvin rubbed his chin, "Mostly."

"That's not exactly convincing."

"Please." The private detective implored, placing his hand on hers. His calm eyes beseeched her trust.

The thief rolled her eyes, and her shoulders dropped, "Alright, alright." Her hand freed itself from under his and went to the back of her neck, flattening the rigid hairs. Her long nails absentmindedly picked at the old scars they found.

"So when do we meet this double agent of yours?" She asked.

"Approximately ten minutes ago." Irvin deadpanned, cocking an eyebrow at his wristwatch.

* * *

The Medici informant cussed under his breath as he pulled out the folded scrap of paper with a set of directions scrawled on it.

"'_Dress casual' he said," _Marco grumbled with bitter sarcasm._ "'You'll fit right in' he said_."

The mob affiliate proceeded to mutter unflattering things about his business associate as he forged his way through the maze of canals and wooden walkways that made up the Little Innsmouth district. To say the least, the informant felt seriously out of place as he baked in the searing summer heat: his clothing was out of place, the way he carried himself was out of place, his language, culture, and even his species were all out of place.

Erring on the side of caution, Marco suspected interacting with the fishlike Dagonian locals wouldn't end well. With the recent slide of mafia influence, being a 'Made Man' drew more resentment than respect - and the mobster knew all too well of the fine line between having knives glared at you, and being subject to actual knives.

The mobster seized up as he blundered into a muscular, hammerheaded Dagonian, more or less certain that he had just crossed this social boundary. Marco guessed that the lip-piercing, tight jeans and bulging pectorals didn't mark the Dagonian as one prone to inaction. Passersby stopped and stared, eagerly anticipating the mobster's comeuppance.

"Hey, look, I uhh..." Marco stuttered as he backed up, showing his open palms in apology.

The hammerhead took a step towards him, less than amused.

The informant felt a hand grasp his shoulder, and he sure that he was done for, until he turned and found himself staring straight into another human face.

"Marco, good to see you." Irvin hissed through a forced smile, mechanically patting his shoulder. "I was worried you weren't going to make it."

The private detective swept the onlookers in his steely gaze, silently challenging them. Slowly the small crowd dissipated, and the masses resumed its flow past the two without further interest. No sooner then after Marcello sighed in relief, Irvin slugged him angrily on the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"What the hell was that?" Irvin demanded. "Can't you to go ten minutes without picking a fight?"

"'Hello' to you too, Irvin." the informant mumbled, rubbing his shoulder, "Nah, you got me all wrong - I was politely asking for directions - because of course that would've gone just _swell_."

Irvin gave a resigned huff, and his expression softened, "Glad you could make it. This way. I can hold your hand if you get frightened by any more big, scary Dagonians." A ghost of a smile tugged at the private investigator's lip as he said this, turning and heading down the catwalk.

"_Furbacchione._" Marco grumbled, sullenly tailing the detective.

A small bell jingled on the door as Irvin re-entered with his informant in tow. Looking around, Marco took in the lacquered wood flooring, and well-lit white plaster walls, and felt a refreshing breeze from an air conditioning unit, carrying the faint smell of soy with it. A short, wide and muscular Dagonian cook sat hunched behind a flat-top grill, reading a newspaper, and a small radio puttered a tune on the counter. The place seemed peaceful, secluded from the general hubbub of the street.

Marco followed Irvin over to a table occupied by a curvy feline feral with a dark tan and light hair. In any other setting, the mobster would think that there was a word for women dressed as liberally as she was. However, in context with the murderous heat outside, the cropped top and cutoff shorts almost looked practical on her lithe frame. She was eyeing him with suspicion and mild disdain. The mafia informant ignored it, driven beyond caring.

"So, who's this friend of ours?" Marco quipped, glancing at Irvin for guidance.

"Ah, yes," Irvin began, pulling up a seat, "Nadia Fortune, may I introduce Marcello, my contact in the Mafia."

"_Piacere_." Marco greeted, offering a hand to the feline. Nadia slowly, cautiously reached out her own hand, giving a weak, half-hearted shake.

The gangster decided that would have to be good enough. He pulled up his own chair, leaning his elbows onto the table. Before he could say anything, the feline suddenly piped up.

"So, what makes a Medici like you turn on your friends?" She queried.

"For starters, being in a the mob doesn't make you a Medici-"

"There's a difference?" Nadia riposted, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes. Now secondly, that's a long story."

"I've got time for it." The feline decided, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms back over her chest.

Irvin sighed, rising from his chair with a creak.

"I might as well buy us some lunch. We'll be here for a while."

* * *

**Cosa Nostra: Literally translating to "Our Thing" in English. A euphemism for a mafia organization. More specific to the collection of crime families that arose in Sicily as a central, organised criminal structure.**

**Furbacchione: Equivalent of the phrase 'Smart-Aleck'. A term to call out someone who acts obnoxious and sarcastic.**

**Piacere: Translates to "Pleasure" in English. A general term of greeting.**

_26/9/13 Edit: Finally took another look at this chapter and wow I was __really__ bad at writing when I started out. I mean if you think what you're reading right now needs a bit of polish... hoo boy, tell me about it. Edits for quality will be ongoing for this chapter and the story at large._


	2. Game Plan

Marco rubbed his forehead, wondering where to begin. After a minute he made up his mind and started.

"I wasn't lying about what I said- the Medici like to think otherwise, but a few years back they weren't the only outfit running New Meridian. There were a lot of… eh, 'family businesses': The Riario, The Pazzi, the Salviati, lots of different outfits."

"So what changed?" Nadia wondered.

"I'm getting to that, but first you gotta understand the times back then- we weren't so bad. We had rules: You respected your family, you didn't lay a finger on anyone who didn't cause trouble first, and if you had trouble with someone then you brought it out in the open for everyone to see instead of skulking around in the shadows; we were men of honour."

"Are you serious?" Ms. Fortune cut in, "Mafia? Honour? Im_paws_ible."

"Hey, now hold on." The Mafioso shot back, "I ain't finished. So, back then I was part of the Salviati. We were bankers and shareholders mostly, but we did a bit of loan work on the side. Say some deadbeat took out a loan on us, but he doesn't pay it back on time, and he refuses to pay it back; we give him lots of warning, still no dice."

"I think I see where this is going…" Nadia grumbled.

"Yeah, so the Don would get someone from the family, like me, and I'd get a few other guys together and we'd go find him-"

"-And break his legs?" The feline feral practically hissed it at him, "Sorry, I guess I'm just not fit to understand the honourable trade of _extortion_."

"Keep it civil, Ms. Fortune, I didn't bring him down here so you turn him into a scratching post." This came from Irvin, coming back from the counter carrying a modest stack of Dim Sum bamboo baskets. The smell of steamed food was hypnotizing.

There was a momentary fuss as the baskets were opened to reveal their precious cargo of dumplings and cha-siu-bao pork buns, and shared out around the table. Seizing the moment, Irvin jumped in before the two could resume their argument.

"Look, you two don't have to be the best of friends," the detective said, his brown eyes flicking between the two. "but I need you to co-operate."

Marco nodded in agreement, taking a moment to gulp down a mouthful of food before speaking.

"So, Irvin, what can I do you for?" the mobster said with a smirk.

"We've identified possible suspects regarding the abduction of the River King's daughters. As normal, I'd like your help in confirming them." Irvin nodded towards the feline sitting next to him, "Fill him in with the details."

Marco leaned back, silent and attentive as Nadia described the thin, cream-shirted Medici and his fat red-shirted associate who had failed miserably to coerce her friend some time ago. After she was done the mobster gave a slow, knowledgeable nod.

"That would be Lawrence and Riccardo you're talking about." He recited to them, pinching the bridge of his nose "Most useless boots in the whole outfit."

"You don't sound too happy about it." Irvin noted.

"That's because they've botched their last job for the Medicis. They're due for the chopping block tomorrow."

A stunned silence followed. Irvin was the first to speak up.

"How can you be sure it's tomorrow?" the detective asked.

"Because I was helping plan the hit. Vitale does things differently than his Papa, he just places bounties and pays the first one to do the job."

"So that means Black Dahlia and her goons are going to be after them, too…" Nadia realized, "But that doesn't answer the question: why tomorrow?"

"Well, tomorrow is probably when they're going to show their ugly faces." Marco explained, "Think of it: If they really helped out with snatching those girls, then they'd have made a bit of money. What do stupid people do when they get lots of money? They spend it- fast. Where do stupid people go to blow off a whole bag of cash? Come on, you're a sharp one, guess."

"A bar?" The cat burglar suggested with a shrug.

"Let me rephrase that. Where do stupid people _who think they're classy_ go to spend their money?"

"A casino." Nadia didn't even hesitate before giving her answer.

"There you go." Marco chuckled, giving a lopsided grin, "Now, there's only one good casino in the area, and that'd be the River King Casino."

The Dagonian cook working the grille spat out a mouthful of iced tea as the informant's voice carried across the empty distance. Nadia's ears swivelled in agreement.

"The River King - you mean the one who just had his daughters taken by the mafia?" The thief said sarcastically. "You're telling me that they'd just wander in there after all they've done?"

"Fair point." Irvin observed, giving Marco a questioning look, "I'd think the establishment's private security would have qualms about that."

"Irvin, Irvin," Marco said scoldingly, "of all people, you should know just how much stronger money is than muscle. You said the security were private contractors, right?"

"Right..."

"So that means they work for the highest bidder." Marco insisted, pressing a finger on the table "The Medicis are going to spend a whole tonne of cash, grease a hell of a lot of hands and pull strings all over the place to make sure those rent-a-cops are nice and sleepy when the time comes. This has been a long time in the making: the Medici family has been lobbying to become a shareholder for the River King Casino, and they've been denied for just as long. There's a buzz around the mafia about it: rumour is that Lorenzo's latest offer was estimated at just over _fifty-__hundred million,_ nine digits. Apparently the River King responded by telling Lorenzo to stick that money up his-"

"-So there's quite a bit of rivalry, I take it." Irvin conceded.

"That doesn't make any sense." Nadia blurted through a mouthful of xia-jiao dumplings, "With all that cash, couldn't they just build their own?"

"They tried." The informant pointed out, skewering another dumpling on his fork, "The Medici's spent one-hundred-fifty million trying to build their own casino - 'The House of Cards'. It makes a nice bag of cash, but the Medicis have some bad habits: rigged slot machines, inflated winning taxes, weighted dice, crappy music, all that. They've forgotten how to run an honourable business, so people would rather take their patronage to the River King."

Irvin raised an eyebrow as he scribbled the new information into his notebook.

"The kidnappings fit into this, I presume?"

"Like clockwork." Marco nodded, selecting a siu-mai dumpling from its styrofoam container. "It's the way the Medicis always do it: If they can't do business, then they make it personal."

"Could we warn him, then?" Nadia mewed, "Just give the River King a _heads-up _about all this?"

"Sure we could, but that don't mean he'd be able to do much about it." Marco tapped the side of his nose sagely. "What with the Medicis being in control of his daughters and all. Which is also why Lawrence and Riccardo are going to patronize his establishment. Those two think they're doing the mob a favour showing how they can go wherever they please, what they don't know is that it isn't the dirt off their boots that'll christen the place - it'll be their blood. If those two die on the River King's turf, people will get doubts. They'll say 'The River King can't protect his own guests - that place is violent', and suddenly everyone will go to the Medici's House of Cards instead."

"Jeez." The cat burglar murmured, "Is this usual for a Medici scheme?"

"Every day, and twice on Sundays."

"It could be." Irvin mused, rubbing his pointed chin, "We'll have to make a plan to get them out, then."

There was another moment of silence as all three of them munched thoughtfully over their lunch. Marco was the first to speak.

"Well, I can pull some strings and arrange a getaway plan, but I can't go in there with you." The mobster intoned, "I'm considered a power player with the mafia- I take one step into there without a crew to back me up and I'm going to get jumped by the others."

"What? Why?" Nadia sputtered.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but it would decrease competition amongst the other assassins, correct?" Irvin deduced.

"Right on the money."

"So, me and Irvin get in there, stop Dahlia from killing a pair of clueless goons, and get them out alive. Simple." Nadia had a mild amount of sarcasm as she said this.

"Oh, don't be such a downer- it could be fun." Marco assured with a smug grin, "I mean, what are you, a-"

"'_Scaredy cat_'?" the feline felon was not one to allow a good cat joke get away from her. "No, it's not me that I'm worried about."

"Relax." Irvin assured her, "I'm taken to believe you're an experienced thief, correct? Well, we're going to steal a few criminals right from under Dahlia's nose."

* * *

_29/9/13 Edit: Added more important details and patched a few gaping plotholes that were present. As usual send me a message if you have any suggestions or discovered any problems._


	3. The Blind

The River King Casino was, to say the least, huge. Lording over the opera houses, theatres and fine dining restaurants of New Meridian's downtown, it was the shining gem of the city's night life. Even when not open the massive decorative fountains arrayed outside of the casino were be in full use, and at night the giant neon lights adorning the 30-story building would light up, illuminating it as a sort of beacon for the city's night life. It was a spectacle to watch on weekends, when the massive gambling hub would throw open its doors and host thousands of wealthy patrons.

Ms. Fortune had grown up in a street gang, and had only seen it from afar: a giant monument to the city's privileged and wealthy. It was even more intimidating when standing across the street from it. The cat burglar's gawking was interrupted by Irvin, standing next to her in a rented tuxedo.

"Ever been to a place like this?" He asked.

"No, not really." Nadia admitted, "A little too rich for my blood, I guess." In truth she had hardly ever been to a neighbourhood where the streets needed more than four lanes for all the expensive sports cars and tourist busses, let alone eight. The cat burglar felt like her skin was crawling. She could practically feel the bureaucracy and snobbishness leeching outwards from the giant gambling house.

"If all goes well, we won't be here for long." The detective offered, "Let's go find Marco. He'll be around here somewhere."

Circling around to the main entrance of the casino, they found the mafia informant wearing a sharp chauffeur's uniform, polishing a vacant Rolls Royce. The cap on his uniform was pulled down far enough to shade his eyes, making him just another man in the crowds from a distance.

"Hey Irvin, you've made it." Marco said, giving a crooked grin. He stood back to examine Nadia, one white-gloved hand planted on his waist and the other rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"So I see you got yourself dolled up." The mobster deduced, appraising the feline thief's outfit. She still had her utility belt on, but a simple orange skater dress in place of her usual attire - on lease from a friend. "Good, they wouldn't let you in there dressed like a _puttana_."

"Like a _what _now?!" Nadia demanded, flattening her ears against her head.

Irvin put a hand on her shoulder, eager to defuse the impending hostilities.

"Don't answer that." The detective ordered

"Not on my life." the mobster conceded, "We'll need to do something about those ears and the tail, though. They'll make you stick out."

"Oh, that's easy." Nadia decided. With a firm pull, she plucked her ears off of her scalp, and dislocated her tail from the base of her spine, rolling it up like a coil of rope and stashing the appendages into one of the pouches at her belt. Marco went slack-jawed.

"What?" She asked with a shrug.

"That's... not normal, is it?" Marco forced out, he glanced at Irvin, "Did you know she could do this?"

"I had my suspicions. You never asked."

"Eyes on the _purr_ize, boys." Ms. Fortune reminded them, looking over towards the casino."What can we expect to face once we get in there?"

She waved a hand in front of Marco's poleaxed expression, and he finally reacted.

"Right, uh... Right. Well the place is crawling with more _soldati_ than Medici tower." The mobster explained, "Dahlia's cronies are here, but don't know if she'll appear in the flesh; the broad likes to let her crew handle the small jobs for her. On the other hand she might like the idea of stepping on the River King's toes by lighting the place up in person... Oh, word is that singer, uh, what's-her-face..." He pinched the bridge of his nose as he recalled the name, "Eliza. She'll on stage tonight. Word of advice - be careful around her. That broad is serious business."

"A singer?" Ms. Fortune asked, wrinkling her nose, "Want to _claw_rify that?"

"I can't say for certain. The Medici have dirt on her for something. You know how it is with these big-name stars - one juicy detail gets out and suddenly they go from stardom to street scum. Don't ask me how she does it, but people get snuffed out, and she collects the credit. Speaking of which, Irvin, you've come heavy?"

"As always." Irvin adjusted his suit jacket to reveal the buckle of his shoulder holster, quickly covering up again. "What sort of a time frame are we looking at?"

"The casino gets the most packed at around nine o'clock to eleven. If I were in there, I'd try to make the burn at around ten thirty to send the strongest message. You should have an hour or two to find those _jamooks_, which doesn't give you much room to work. Don't screw around in there."

"When do I ever?" The private detective turned to Nadia, "Ready?"

"As much I'll ever be." Nadia huffed, "Let's get this over with."_  
_

* * *

The casino's interior was, if possible, even more breathtaking than the building's exterior. A lush deep red carpet with intricate designs covered the floor of the spacious area. Tastefully placed pillars could be seen adorned with beautiful carvings of coral and seashells, rising up through several mezzanine floors and into the tall, domed ceiling. A perfectly to-scale sculpture of a whale was suspended between four nearby pillars, with water cascading onto it from nearby fountains. All around the centrepiece were arranged an array of flashy neon-flooded card and dice tables, bright slot machines, bars, and everything else important to the distinguished gambler of taste. The entire building seemed crowded with finely-suited men and fashionably dressed women. Nadia could hardly hear herself think over the cacophony of voices, blaring swing jazz, and the din was only magnified as it echoed off the enclosed structure of the casino and fed back into itself. Even the air felt like it was charged with excitement and glamour.

"We need a plan," Irvin stated. "Here, I'll circle around the left, you go right. We'll meet at the far end of the room and move onto the next floor from there."

"What?!" Nadia yelled over the din, her hands clamped over her throbbing eardrums.

He opened his mouth to try again, but thought better of it, instead communicating his idea with a series of hand gestures. The thief nodded, and they parted ways.

Nadia wandered aimlessly through the infinite tides of tuxedos and lush dresses, not really expecting to suddenly glimpse Lawrence or Riccardo hunched over a slot machine or throwing away mounds of cash at any of the roulette tables or card desks. Instead, she was trying to put herself into their mindset. Where would she go if she was a wannabe womanizer Mafioso with some cash to burn, she wondered. The thief stopped short at a large banner advertising Eliza's performance in the casino's theatre wing. The exotic woman on the poster seemed to stare out at Ms. Fortune with a warm, playful yet assertive gaze. Also of note in the poster were Eliza's slender shoulders and extremely loose-fitting top, doing little to hide her generous proportions.

The thief rubbed her chin as she considered the vibrant print. She remembered Marco's warning from earlier, and something clicked in her mind - Eliza wasn't going to bother tracking Lawrence or Riccardo - the singer was going to lure them in, like moths to an open flame.

"_Maybe I'll be catching that performance after all_." Nadia muttered to herself.

* * *

**Puttana: An offensive term used to describe a woman who sells themselves for money.**

**Soldati: Plural for basic recruits in the mafia.**

**Jamook: An belittling term implying stupidity and/or incompetence.**

_27/9/13 Edit: Made a few changes to improve cohesion and flow. Added more dumb cat puns._


	4. The Don's Nephew

The River King Casino's theatre wing was gaudy, to say the least. The centre of the lounge was dominated large semicircular stage edged with moody blue lights and gold trim, looking out over a packed arrangement of two-person tables. Sitting at one of these tables was Lawrence, a heavyset Mafioso in red. A neat roll of twenty-dollar bills was stashed in the pocket of his black pants, but at the moment he couldn't care less. With his elbows on the table, head propped up on his hands, and a vacant look in his eyes, Lawrence was enchanted by the woman on stage. If his mind were capable of such creativity, he'd make poetic terms to describe Eliza's intoxicating beauty as she serenaded the audience. He could've sworn that at moments she was looking straight at him, slipping him a sly wink from her sky-blue eyes as she sang. Simply enthralling.

The overweight mobster was still in this vacuous state when Ms. Fortune found him. Rather than just try to drag him away, the cat burglar hung back outside of the seating area, trying to plan her next move. She noted with some worry that Riccardo was nowhere to be seen.

'_That creep probably likes younger women, anyways_.' Nadia thought with a shudder. Dismissing such thoughts from her mind, she proceeded.

With a nonchalant air, the feline felon pulled up a chair at Lawrence's table and sat directly across from him, blocking his line of sight to Eliza performing on the stage. The cat burglar found it fascinating how the mobster's face cycled from indignation and anger, to the spark of recognition and then settled on fear. She gave a mirthless grin, displaying her razor-sharp canines. Nadia couldn't find it in herself to pity the clammy brute. He had been responsible for Minette's kidnapping, for enabling the Medicis and their corruptive influence. Now that she was this close, it took a sizeable amount of self-control for the feline thief to refrain from simply grabbing Lawrence by the collar of his ugly red shirt and bashing his even uglier head against the wall until he told her where Minette was being held. Lawrence seemed to sense this, too. Nadia would never admit this, but she relished the look of dread on his face. It appealed to the same deep instinct that causes cats to toy with their prey.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" Ms. Fortune purred, her nails tracing shapes on the table.

"N-now just hold on, I don't want any trouble-"

A pair of mafia operatives were hunched over a table nearby, waiting for an appropriate moment to make their move. Neither of them were very amused by what they saw. One leaned over and tapped the shoulder of his partner.

"Would you get a load of this, Franco?" the tuxedo-clad man grumbled, motioning toward the distant table, "Do we know this girl?"

"I wish. Dunno about you, but I wouldn't forget a woman with curves like that." Francesco decided, tapping the ashes off the end of a vanilla-scented cigarette, "She don't look too pleased, does she? I'm guessing Lawrence tried out one of his world-class pickup lines again."

His partner broke into a giggle, "Oh brother. Remember last year, when he tried to sweet-talk that circus star?"

"How could I forget? His face looked like a damn eggplant from all the bruises - I was there when he tried chatting her up. I swear, if my Momma heard _me_ disrespect a woman like that, she'd have thrown me across her knee and beat me with my dad's belt."

"Sounds like one hell of a woman." the partner cackled, patting Francesco on the back. "Your mother, I mean - the circus star, too, but mostly your mother."

"You better believe it, Carlo." Francesco boasted, puffing his chest and lifting his chin, "That woman brought me up right, she made sure I knew what it meant to be a Medici - taught me to treat a lady with respect."

"Not like this scumbag?" Carlo glanced at Lawrence's pudgy figure again.

"Damn straight." Francesco dragged deeply on his cigarette, making the embers crawl further up the tube. "Respect is everything. If you can't show respect for your fellow man, then you don't deserve any. And if nobody respects you, y'know what that makes you? Dog food, that's what."

"Whoa," Carlo chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender "forgive me father, I have sinned! All that fire-and-brimstone makes you sound like a bishop."

"The only faith I need is in my family." declared Francesco de Medici, placing a hand over his heart.

"But suppose this gal's here on the same business as us, eh? Eliza finds some weird types to work for her - could be a _cugine_ for all we know."

"Possibly." Franco agreed, exhaling another plume of scented smoke, "Anyway, I'm in the mood to kill something. What about you?"

The mobster in the tuxedo leaned back and stuffed his hand in his pocket, fishing around until he found the handgun he had smuggled in. "I'm getting tired of listening to this crap music anyways, let's go stick this pig and call it a night."

He rose from his seat and meandered through the tables, his dark clothing blending in with the gloomy lighting. Francesco took a final drag on his cigarette before crushing it into an ashtray, and followed in the same nonchalant fashion.

The method to an effective message job was to be quick, precise, and as loud as possible. The hammer and anvil tactic was old, but effective: one of the hitmen would approach directly and telegraph his intentions to draw the target's attention, then his partner would strike from behind. Francesco straightened out the lapels of his bright yellow zoot suit and drew a flick-knife from his pocket, making sure the polished metal glinted in the dark blue neon light.

"You're out of options, Lawrence." Nadia continued, "Either you smarten up, or..." the cat burglar's gaze snapped upwards, to a loudly-dressed man strutting towards them with a wide, slimy grin plastered onto his face. The thief's shoulders tensed up, and she slowly rose from the table, readying to face the mafioso.

The other killer surged forward from his hiding spot. The tuxedo-wearing mobster clubbed the girl over with head with the handgun, knocking her down for the count, and pulled back the pistol's slide, revelling in the satisfying click of the well-lubricated spring mechanism.

"Smile for the birdie, fatso!" he rasped gleefully at Lawrence.

A survivor of many street brawls and, of course, virtually immortal, Ms. Fortune was decidedly more durable than a regular five-foot-eight, one hundred and twenty seven-pound woman. The tuxedoed assassin was definitely surprised when a sudden, unbearable and merciless pain spiked between his legs where the thief kicked him. His aim was thrown off as his hand clenched around the trigger and the pistol misfired.

The gunshot rang like a cathedral bell, shattering the mellow tunes of Eliza's music. Panic seized the other guests, and the seating area was thrown into a frenzied mass of shouting and screaming. Francesco roared a profanity and charged, determined to finish this job one way or another. Nadia's reflexes were faster as she pounced at him, shredding wide holes in his offensive suit.

Eliza observed these events from the stage with a seething anger. Lawrence was secondary to her - right now, the mafia killers would pay in horribly for interrupting her musical solo. As she skipped down from the stage, a pair of hulking feral bodyguards appeared at her sides. Her personal guard consisted of Horace, an avian feral, and Albus, a jackal feral. The diva proceeded across the floor with an officious air, with her guards smashing away tables from her path and swatting away any unlucky guests.

The mobster in the zoot suit was only barely holding his own against the barrage of claws and teeth from his combatant. His forearms took the brunt of the slashing as he held them in front of his face. A fluke allowed him to shove the manic storm of claws away, and he adjusted what was left of his suit jacket, arranging himself. Francesco felt a finger tapping his shoulder, and turned around to see Horace towering over him, cracking the knuckles of his massive hands.

Francesco let out half a profanity before Horace launched him across the room with a vicious uppercut.

Ms. Fortune smirked as she relaxed, dusting herself off.

"Now that was a _pun_ch." she giggled, "I a_purr_eciate it."

Neither of the giant ferals responded, and Nadia realized she was not among friends as the burly guards moved to encircle her. Eliza stopped in front of her, hips cocked, and a sly smile showing white teeth against her dark features.

"So, where has Lawrence run off to?" Eliza mused, "Or perhaps you've swallowed him whole, too?"

"What-?" Nadia stuttered, momentarily stunned. She looked around, realizing that the fat mobster in red was nowhere to be seen. It took a moment for the full implications of Eliza's accusation to reach the thief, and she glanced back at the dark-skinned singer with questioning eyes.

The answer came from the broad-shouldered jackal behind her.

"No disguise will mask the stink of your enchanted flesh, _thief_." Albus spat, "You shame our kind with your deceit."

Horace fluffed his plumage and rolled back his shoulders in agreement.

"_I guess the cat's out of the bag_." Nadia hissed under her breath. She pulled out her detached ears and tail from her tool belt and popped them back into their appropriate spots. The feline feral immediately felt much more comfortable as her tail subtly flicked back and forth, maintaining her balance, and her ears twitched receptively as her hearing improved.

Horace and Albus stepped forward, but halted as Ms. Fortune swiped at the air in front of them, an audible hiss escaping her throat. Her pupils flattened into sharp slits.

"Fine, I'll play your game! You want a piece of me?" She snarled, "Come and get it!"

The double-meaning was not lost on Eliza, and to Nadia's surprise the elegant-looking singer coiled herself into what seemed to be a combat stance. Through an unspoken word the large bodyguards backed away, giving their mistress room to work.

Nadia and Eliza paced in circles around each other, Ms. Fortune darted back and forth, keeping light on her feet, and Eliza strutted in an unconcerned fashion, with a carefree smile on her features. The singer knew that her opponent would try and attack first, to use her nimble agility and sharp claws to her advantage- and that would be Nadia's undoing.

After circling for a minute more, Nadia straightened up, giving a cocky grin.

"Seeya!" she called flippantly, bolting in the opposite direction. Horace and Albus were too far away to do anything to stop her, and Nadia was out the door before they could react. At a loss, they both pivoted their heads back towards their mistress.

"Don't look at me like that!" she shrieked, "Catch that cat!"

* * *

**Cugine: A term for people striving to be indicted into the mafia.**

_28/9/13 Edit: Made some changes for quality. Adjusted dialogue to accommodate more horrible puns. Gave Francesco a more central role and inserted his pseudo-monologue about respect. In other news, expect this chapter to receive a major overhaul once Eliza gets added to the Skullgirls universe in full._


	5. Almost Home Free

On the ground floor of the casino, Irvin forced his way through the frenzied mass of confused guests. As was usually the case with upper-class citizens, concepts like 'panic' and 'urgency' were not familiar to them, but they seemed to be doing their best to learn how. Everyone was shouting, and some were trying to cash in their gambling chips while they could. The private detective found it fascinating how people with money never seemed to act rational. They kept yelling over each other, asking ,'What's going on?', 'What happened?', here and there Irvin could hear cries of murder, that somebody had been shot, but people were yelling so loudly, demanding to be answered, that they ended up drowning out anyone who could answer them. The result was a chaotic deadlock of fine suits and well-tailored dresses all bickering with each other in a great sea of people. As Irvin navigated his way through the crowd he could easily make out a worryingly large number of Medici mobsters doing the same as he was- pushing and muscling their way through the masses with a purpose. Among them was a wiry man in a faded cream-coloured shirt, sporting a thin moustache and a chin patch. It was Riccardo - one of the men implicated with the kidnappings, and one of the Medicis had spotted him.

Irvin moved with a new purpose, pushing aside tuxedos and fancy dresses as he kept careful watch on Riccardo, and the would-be killer. The detective's eye caught a glint of steel, and the soft, but unmistakable click of a Rizzuto Estileto flick-knife being unsheathed. The gloved assassin reached Riccardo just a few steps ahead of Irvin.

"Hey lamebrain, over here!" Riccardo turned to see the mobster coming at him with the switch blade.

Irvin dived the last meter, tackling the knife-wielding Mafioso to the ground, and throwing a hard right hook into his face to knock him out cold. Quickly becoming the centre of attention from the throng of guests, Irvin hastily got to his feet, straightening out his tuxedo with a casual air. Riccardo gawked at him.

"Y-you-"

"You can thank me later." Irvin said flatly, grabbing the sleeve of Riccardo's yellow shirt and pulling him away into the crowd. Most of the onlookers were busy staring at the unconscious Medici, and paid little attention to Irvin and Riccardo as they disappeared.

"I need you to listen." Irvin urged, "Your associates in the mob want you dead. If you're going to stay alive, then listen to every word I say."

Riccardo nodded.

"Good. There's a car waiting for us outside, but we need to find Lawrence as well. Where is he?"

"L-Lawrence said he was going up to the theatre, he wanted to catch tonight's show…" Riccardo trailed off, at last realizing the implications of the gunshot that threw the casino into disarray, "Oh no…"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Irvin commanded, taking Riccardo by the shoulders, "I'll find Lawrence, you get outside. There should be a black Rolls Royce with white trim across the street, we'll meet you there, understand?"

Once again, Riccardo nodded dumbly.

"Good." Irvin let go of the quivering Medici and dived back into the crowd, making towards the grand staircase.

It didn't take Irvin long to find a heading when he reached the second floor, there was a small, but distinctive trail of blood droplets leading farther off into the gallery. The private detective had long since learned not to jump to conclusions, but he still patted the side of his jacket to make sure his handguns were safely in their holsters. Following the trail, Irvin heard the source of the blood before he saw it. There was a Medici mobster slumped against a slot machine with a small group of other gangsters crowded around him. The injured Mafioso was alive, evidenced by the fact that he was yelling vulgarities fairly loudly. The private detective knew better than to chance an open engagement, and tucked himself behind a pillar, listening in on them.

"-I swear to God I'm gonna gut that little-"

"Not like that you ain't."

"Lawrence really did a number on you, didn't he?" One of the other mobsters observed, "What happened?"

"He came at me with that frickin' machete of his, that's what!" the injured mobster snapped, "When I get my hands on him, I'll stick that thing up his-"

"Hey, hey, slow down." This came from a mafioso in a pinstriped suit, "We'll take care of it, which way'd he go?"

"The fatso ran off that way." The wounded mobster groaned as he shifted his weight to motion in the direction where the target had fled, "Randal and Jim went chasin' after him."

"Oh, _good_." A mobster in a black suit and a white hat, presumably the leader, turned to address the other mobsters, "Conway, Marv, get this guy fixed up. As for the rest of you, get going. I want Lawrence cut off and cut up, _capiche_?"

"Sure thing. What about you, boss?"

"I'll go find Dahlia." The Medici boss sighed, "She's not going to be impressed that we screwed up, but she'll know how to fix this."

The detective ducked back, taking the long way around to avoid drawing the attention of the mobsters while he processed this new information. He just hoped that Lawrence had the good sense to stay alive until he could reach him.

* * *

"Lawrence, Laaawrence!" Randal cat-called, "Come on out, you little pig!"

The mobster was quite enjoying this game of hide-and-seek he was playing with the marked man. With a switchblade clutched in one gloved hand and a grin on his face, he stalked down the rows of whirring and blinking gambling machines. It was only a matter of time before he'd see the red flash of Lawrence's shirt, then the _real_ fun would begin.

"C'mon, I won't bite!" Randal cackled. As the mafia assassin got to the end of the row he heard shouting. He found Lawrence squaring off with his partner, Jim. The other mafia killer was wielding his own switchblade, but was being kept at arm's length by Lawrence's machete. The tubby mafia target swung left and right in broad sweeps, driving both of them back down the aisle of slot machines.

"Come on, what's the problem?!" Lawrence roared at them, "Never fought a real man before?"

Jim stopped, flipping his switchblade in the air and catching it by the flat of the blade. Lawrence's eyes widened in fright, Jim threw the switchblade at him, and there was the sound of metal impacting on flesh. The overweight mobster tumbled to the ground. It would take more than a single wound to kill a man of Lawrence's bulk, however, and he tried to roll onto his hands and knees. Jim ran over and smartly kicked him in the gut, sending the overweight mobster tumbling back across the carpet. Intent on finishing him off, Randal caught up and rolled Lawrence onto his back, gripping the collar of his shirt and pinning him to ground, thrusting forward with the dagger clutched in his other hand.

Something heavy collided with Randal's arm, swatting the would-be murder weapon out of his grasp. The assassin's attention flicked to the offending object, and he made a double-take. The Medici could have sworn – no, he was quite sure, that someone had thrown a human head at him.

It also had a pair of cat ears on it.

It was also clutching his flickblade between its teeth.

It was still alive.

It was _winking_ at him.

There is a point in a human's brain in which it can only deal with so much reality-bending ridiculousness before something inside of it breaks, and it needs to come to a screeching halt. Randal's brain went miles past this point, and the mobster could do little other than stare with a blank expression. Jim, who was decidedly more clear-headed, turned just in time to get tackled by the decapitated, still functioning body of Ms. Fortune. Nadia worked the last of her momentum as they hit the ground, rolling on to her back and coiling like a spring under the mobster's weight before using both of her legs to send him flying into a slot machine. Jim's head struck the corner of the gambling machine's metal frame with a clang, and he crumpled to the floor. The weight of the impact caused the slot machine to whir into action, and its dials settled on a trio of sevens before it started puking coins all over the unconscious assassin. An eerie sort of silence prevailed, interrupted by nothing but the clicking and beeping of different slot machines from all around.

Ms. Fortune dusted her hands off with a satisfied huff, picking her head up from where it fell and securing it back onto her shoulders. She took a breath, readying to release a one-liner pun including something about "claw" and "lottery", but she was interrupted by a gunshot and something heavy landing between her shoulder blades. Very slowly, and without moving any other part of her body, Nadia rotated her head in its socket with a disgusting fleshy noise until she was looking squarely at Randal, who had spent one of six bullets in his revolver, and was still shaking from fear. The colour drained from the trembling Mafioso's features.

"Boo." Nadia said in a monotone.

Not saying a word, Randal dropped the handgun and ran away at a full sprint.

"Now, where was I?" the cat-burglar mused to herself, turning her attention to Lawrence. His injury was severe, but he was still doing his best to crawl away, back down the row of slot machines to where his machete had fallen. Ms. Fortune strode towards him with a leisurely gait, her tail flicking playfully as she closed the distance to him.

Lawrence came close to retrieving his machete, but as soon as his hand found the wood-and-steel grip, a dress shoe came down on the blade, pinning it in place. With a fair amount of exertion, Lawrence looked up to see the owner of the shoe. Irvin's icy expression met his for only a moment before the private detective looked back towards Nadia.

"I'll assume you have things under control here." He observed.

"Pretty much." Nadia agreed with a shrug, before pointing to Lawrence, "Hey, give me hand with this lard-cake before Eliza or any of the Medicis catch up-"

Nadia heard the clacking of several guns having their safeties clicked off from behind her, and the cat burglar silently ridiculed herself for tempting fate.

"Oh, I hope you're not leaving _too_ soon," mocked a mature feminine voice, "I've only just arrived."

* * *

_Author here, I have some good news and bad news. Bad news is that chapter couldn't have had a cheesier end if I tried. Good news is that Skullgirls is now available for preorder on the PC!_

___29/9/13 Edit: Thankfully, the possibility of an edit is on the horizon. Untangling the total mess that makes up this chapter is going to take a while, so please be patient._


	6. Showtime

_This chapter was a lot harder to write than I thought it would be. I've been constantly rewriting and editing portions of this chapter for the last week, and I'm still not sure if I have achieved the right tone. If you find any errors or find that my writing has suddenly become just plain boring, please let me know._

* * *

The woman known as Black Dahlia leisurely inhaled from a black cigarette holder, blowing smoke rings through her veil. The ace assassin was resplendent in a dark purple opera dress, black ermine cap, and a cape of embroidered lace flowing down her right shoulder and to the floor. To Dahlia's left and right were her unusual-looking crew: an all-female unit wearing playboy bunny costumes and obscuring their faces behind empty skull masks.

"I was worried that I would be late, but it seems I've caught you just in time." She taunted. The veil obscured most of her face, but the glint of a malicious smile still be seen underneath the pleated fabric.

Nadia would usually have a witty retort already rolling off her lips, but she refrained, taking a deep breath to steady her rapid pulse.

"Irvin." She whispered quietly, "Get Lawrence and go."

The cat burglar's eyes were locked squarely on the menacing veil, but Nadia could see the detective give her a quizzical look out of the corner of his eye.

"They aren't after you. Not anymore." Nadia continued in her quiet tone, "It's me they want."

"Really?" Dahlia queried in her condescending way, "Oh, I get it. You want revenge for your... parents, was it? Did I get it right?"

"Don't you remember?" Nadia accused with a grimace.

"No. I don't." sighed the infamous assassin, "I'm a professional. I don't take things personally."

Black Dahlia liesurely puffed from her cigarette holder, allowing the silence to sink in. Irvin had started hurrying away with Lawrence's arm across his shoulders, but Dahlia seemed to have lost interest in them. She noticed that the feline's hands were trembling. Clenched into fists, but still trembling. The Medici murderer took a stride forward, and the wiry girl took a small step back.

Fear.

The ace assassin gave a soft laugh in her mature voice.

"It gets dull, dealing with loose ends." Black Dahlia sneered, "Everywhere I go there's always an angry little girl or angry little boy, pointing at me and screaming 'revenge'. I guess this is what it feels like to be famous: so many petty little people begging for my attention when I. Just. Don't. Care."

In a sudden blur, the assassin twirled the cigarette holder in her fingers, lashing out with blinding speed and stabbing the tube through Nadia's throat. An immediate counterattack caught Dahlia off guard, and she was forced to duck back to avoid the claws.

"The whole nine lives thing does have its_ purr_ks." Nadia said with a grin, removing the cigarette holder from her neck, and snapping the ivory rod in her fist. "The Life Gem helps, too."

"Oh my," Dahlia sighed, as if she were scolding a child, "now I remember. You were with that rabble of filthy fish people – the ugly duckling with that repulsive speech impediment you called 'humour'. Out of that entire pack of sewer-mongering bottom feeders, it couldn't have been the strong one or the noble one or the cunning one that survived. Oh, no, it just had to be the worthless comic relief!"

With conviction, Dahlia lifted her embroidered cloak and threw it over her shoulder to expose her armaments. The Medici assassin had no right arm. Instead, a prosthetic limb protruded from her shoulder, and a revolver-loaded cannon rested at the elbow. A prosthetic right leg was exposed by a long slit of the side of her opera dress, with pneumatics whirring and clicking at the knee. Dahlia tilted her head towards her crew.

"Find Lawrence and kill him, I want the personal satisfaction of ripping out her tongue." she rasped. Dahlia turned to address the thief again, "You've spent quite a few lives with that Life Gem. It's time to call in your credit."

"You tried that once already. Twice, if you count just now." Ms. Fortune retorted, "_Purr_sonally, I think you need a better plan."

"Perhaps, perhaps not." The assassin mused, levelling her gun, "You like jokes, don't you? So I think you'll appreciate it when I say that there's more than one way to skin a cat."

Instincts kicking in, Nadia leapt to one side as the assassin destroyed where she was just standing with a pair of shotgun shells. A deafening roar filled the air as Dahlia swept her arc of fire after the cat burglar, firing steadily as the assassin forced the heavy barrel to keep pace with the cat burglar's nimble movements. A sixth ear-splitting crack marked the last shell in Dahlia's gun, leaving the stench of smoke and dust in the air.

"_My turn_." Nadia whispered, pouncing at Dahlia. Claws outstretched, prey in sight, the feral's pulse raced as she hurtled towards the black veil. Then suddenly the Medici's veil was not in front of her but beside her, and she felt a sharp pain in her ribs, and the impact of the ground rising to meet her.

Dahlia laughed as she leisurely loaded more shells into her gun, each cylinder sliding into place with a soft click. Nadia's senses narrowed as she rolled back into a crouching pose, hissing. She hated the sound of Dahlia's laughter – echoing like nails on a chalkboard, gleeful as if she took pleasure in the lives she ruined.

"It's a strange thing." Dahlia panted as she sighted her gun on Nadia's crouched form, "From the way Minette spoke of you, I expected someone taller, at least."

Dahlia grinned beneath her veil as she saw Nadia's expression harden, and as a low hiss escaped between her clenched teeth.

"Oh yes, an adorable little girl, really. Especially in the way her eyes light up when she talks about you. Were you aware she wants to be just like you? Maybe I'll start the same way I did with you - with the arms and legs."

Dahlia's jibing had the desired effect, and Nadia's back arched dangerously as her ears flattened against her head – Dahlia could see pure murder in her eyes. The ace assassin exhaled slowly as she aimed down her weapon's sights. The feline felon would charge, and Dahlia would land a hit right between her eyes.

In a swift motion, the thief popped off her own head and spiked it like a volleyball. Dahlia didn't adjust her aim in time, and the grenade shell missed the hurtling object. Nadia bit the Medici assassin's shoulder as her skull collided. Her teeth sank until she tasted blood, even deeper until her jaw closed around the assassin's collarbone. Ms. Fortune's body worked on the opening, lunging, clawing and slashing at Dahlia with wild abandon. Claws made sparks against metal and deep wounds against skin. Nadia's body braced a foot against the assassin's chest, grabbed her severed head, and pulled - ripping away a chunk of flesh as it came free. Dahlia screamed.

_'She'll die if I keep this up'_. Nadia thought, quickly affixing her head back on her shoulders. She hadn't thought of going that far. She didn't want to.

The hesitation gave Dahlia an opening. The assassin lashed out with her mechanical leg, following up with her cannon and firing a grenade into Ms. Fortune's chest.

...

Nadia felt dizzy, and her ears were ringing loudly. She felt cold marble on her cheek. Her muscles were mostly numb, and what parts of her body she could feel were in agony. Blood was still oozing from the stitches in her arms and legs. As her vision cleared she could see Black Dahlia standing next to her, tottering slightly. Soft as a whisper, a long bayonet slid into place next to the assassin's gun. Then came the blinding pain as the thick blade was driven through Nadia's spine and into the cracked marble tiles beneath her. The thief wheezed as she felt the air knocked out of her lungs.

Panting heavily, Dahlia detached the bayonet from her prosthetic limb, leaving Ms. Fortune impaled to the ground. With a trembling hand, she turned her cloak to cover the gaping hole in her shoulder, and adjusted her ermine cap. The ace assassin heard the click of shoes on floor tile behind her, and slowly turned to receive the new contenders.

"Hello, Eliza." she rasped, "If you wanted to arrive 'fashionably late', you're off by a good minute or so."

Eliza sighed, picking invisible specs of lint from her dress. Aldus and Horace stood silent at her sides, vigilant as always.

"We were distracted on the way over." The singer announced, "You wouldn't believe it - a group of eccentrically dressed women claiming that they worked for _you, _Dahlia dear. They were quite insistent on being in our way, so we had to stop to remove them."

At this a small sneer crawled up the side of Aldus' face, revealing a gash of white teeth against his black fur, and he tilted his head left and right, eliciting a series of pops and cracks from his muscular neck. Horace acted in kind, popping the knuckles of his massive hands with an equal amount of noise.

"You see," Eliza continued, "that cat is mine. She'd be useful in attending to my... 'unique needs'."

"Oh, it's always about_ you_, isn't it?" Dahlia spat, "Such a prima donna."

Horace pulled a gold-plated staff from his suit and passed it to his mistress. Eliza tapped it against the ground and a cruelly curved blade unfolded from the base of the staff.

"It's been fun, Dahlia, but I can't let you leave. Either of you."

"Try me." The ace assassin jibed, and she fired.

Nadia sat still, allowing the numbness to drain from her fingers and for feeling to return as Dahlia and Eliza competed. The crashing and explosions became background noise for the thief as she braced her palms against the cracked marble tiles, and pushed. The pain was excruciating as Nadia forced her spine along the bayonet's length, teeth gritted and the sharp prickles of sweat making themselves felt on her arms and face. She let out a sharp gasp as the end of the blade finally exited through her chest, and then she was free.

Breathing heavily, Nadia turned to look back at the two combatants. Aldus and Horace were probably meant to keep an eye on her to prevent an escape, but Dahlia had since removed the two ferals from play, and their limp forms were piled nearby. Despite the injuries Nadia had inflicted to the Medici assassin, she was certainly giving Eliza a good run for her money. The cat burglar decided to give them a little more time to resolve their differences, slipping away amongst the blue-and-gold decorations of the casino.

* * *

"How much longer are we going to wait?" Marco asked.

"Longer."

"That's not a straight answer."

Irvin insisted once again, "Until Nadia comes back."

"I'm telling you, if that gal was gonna show up, she would've done it by now." Marco asserted, "Hey, I thought she was nice, too – easy on the eyes, but I seriously think she's been pinched. The cops are going to arrive any minute now, and then we'll be screwed. What if she's not coming out, eh? What if the Medicis got her?"

"Then we'll go in and we carry her out." Irvin growled, staring squarely at Marco.

"Irvin," Marco murmured, stunned by the private detective's tone, "come on, it's me, your pal. Who is this girl to you?!"

"She's one of ours." Irvin snapped, leaning in close until he could smell Marco's cologne, "We do not leave people behind. Unless you've forgotten about that time in Maplecrest-"

"You just had to bring that up, didn't you?" Marco wailed.

"Seeing as you appear to have a bit of trouble remembering, yes."

"...Well what do we do about Lawrence? He's bleeding all over the place - I don't think he can wait."

This was true. Riccardo had been doing his best in stopping the bleeding, but the mafioso's breathing had become ragged, and his skin had become an unhealthy pale.

"If you want, you can take him to a safe house and I'll wait here. I can contact you later." Irvin challenged.

Once again, the mafia informant backed down, resorting to pacing restlessly again. Irvin continued staring at the front doors to the casino, and finally spoke up.

"Alright, get Lawrence loaded up - we're leaving."

"Finally come to your senses, eh? Look, I don't like doing this any more than you do, but..." he trailed off as he followed Irvin's gaze to the casino doors. "..._Mio dio_."

There was something almost angelic about the feline felon as she approached, her silhouette framed by the light from the casino's doors, beaten, bloodied, charred in a few places, but very much alive.

"Nadia." Irvin stated in greeting, "You've made it." The private detective shot a deadly look at Marco as he said this, and the mafia informant raised his hands apologetically. As he opened his mouth to reply he was cut short by the distant, but distinctive wail of police sirens.

"Okay, now we're _really_ out of time." Marco stammered, "I don't feel like getting pinched by the cops tonight, so are we going to leave or not?!"

There was a flurry of activity as Lawrence's wounded form was loaded into the vehicle. The Royce sped away just as the first police cruiser arrived, leaving behind nothing but exhaust fumes and tire marks.

* * *

**Mio Dio: Meaning "My God". An expression of surprise.**

_10/09/13 edit: Okay, looking back on this, I've taken quite a few quotes from different games and put them into the chapter. I'm going to be making a few small edits to make it a bit more creative on my half._


End file.
